


The Revealing Science of God

by Liebermintz



Category: Jurassic World Trilogy (Movies)
Genre: Chuck Tingle - Freeform, M/M, Multi, a new level of AU (and confidence and power), but kinda, dinomorph, i doubt InGen's female-only policy would apply to a world where dinos are anthropomorphic, i really don't know why i decided to get this story out here, like a less fetishized version of gear25's designs, not really jurassic world, that old park was legit, the raptors don't really date each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-05-30 23:52:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15107375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liebermintz/pseuds/Liebermintz
Summary: Charlie Fleming, the adoptive raptor son of an average human family in Williamsburg, thinks he's in for another uneventful summer, working part-time at the local beer-themed theme park, just waiting for the fall semester to start. That is, until Blake Grady enters into his life and introduces him to the Raptor Social Club (not to be confused with the Rockstar Social Club).Meanwhile, strange things are happening in Williamsburg - rumors regarding a bioweapon being set loose. Not so much an airborne toxic event as much as it is an oversized raptor with superpowers.Based on Azure-Arts/Gear25's raptor morphs. They looked kinda cool, I guess.





	The Revealing Science of God

**Author's Note:**

> kinda shocked the kinda obscure fetish artist's fetish-driven anthropomorphizations of the raptors from Jurassic World haven't exactly taken over that specific part of the Internet.
> 
> also don't expect any kind of kink here, despite the design inspiration - this is a christian server

June 12, 2015.

Williamsburg, VA.

* * *

Charlie Fleming was bored. The night was sultry - the day had been too - and Charlie was still bored. His eyes worn from having to look at every touristy type and every screaming kid who wanted to ride the Fire and the Flames - the world's only coaster featured in a  _Jackass_ stunt (Johnny Knoxville would later have to have surgery to transplant his head back onto his body) - Charlie just wanted the day to end. Thankfully, the spillage of "I Really Like You" from Carly Rae Jepsen's new album helped ease the pain somewhat - the fireworks screamed overhead as Staub Land: Europelandia slowly drove its guests towards the miles upon miles of now-ample parking. It was only a matter of time before Charlie "drove" the trains back to the station, cleaned up his console for the next person on the Fire and the Flames shift, and walked out towards his car.

Charlie straightened his glasses - very ironic for a velociraptor like himself to need them since his species was known for its acute vision - and watched as the last family climbed out of the last train for the night. He waved them a relaxed goodbye and waited until they were out of earshot to turn the console key off.

* * *

In the employee break room, Charlie walked towards his locker - a bare affair, with his everyday clothes and sneakers in there - and opened it up. He took out his bookbag, opened it up, and pulled out a generic processed beef stick. He'd seen the commercials before - the one where the wrestler screamed from the rafters, bit into the snack food, and destroyed many an innocent man's livelihood by burdening them with property damage, only to then rip out their spine in the squared circle - but he wasn't into that. He just loved any sort of snack with meat in it, raptor diet not withstanding. Charlie bit into the elongated stick of processed meats, hung onto it, and changed his pants.

His smart phone rang.

Quickly buttoning up his jeans, Charlie removed the mystery meat snack from his mouth, removed the phone from his discarded khakis, and answered it. "Hello?"

"Hey, Charlie. Just wanted to see if you're able to go to the grocery store. We need some more toilet paper." His mother. Very much unlike Charlie - his father as well. Totally raised by humans. Must've been weird to have a son who just ate meat because it was the only thing he could digest. Well, he could attempt to digest vegetables, but he'd be laid up on his bed for a good six hours, which is to say, "No way."

"Sure. What brand? I know you're picky about the brand."

"Uh...maybe the one with the bears on it for a change? The one so soft, the guy who told people not to squeeze it ended up sneaking in a squeeze or two?" Charlie was confused. How would he know about iconic '80s advertising?

"Sure. Why not? I'll see you when I get home."

"Okay! Drive carefully! Mommy loves you, Charlie!" Click. End of conversation.

Charlie put up his phone and mentally added "get toilet paper" to his mental to-do list.

That and pray for UNC, Chapel Hill to resume classes.

* * *

"Great. The only store that's open and it's the fuckin' Stor-Mart out of all places," Charlie grumbled as he pulled into the parking lot. Packed from the late shopping crowd.

Charlie found a spot near the grocery entrance, stopped his car, and turned it off. He kept the radio on for just the briefest of moments - finishing up the hook from "The Ice of Boston" (hey, the ice of Boston is muddy and reflects no light either day or night and I slip on it every time) bleeding over the black sky from the James Madison University student radio station - and shut the entire apparatus off with the flick of a key.

Charlie climbed out of the car, locked it, and walked towards the Stor-Mart entrance. A family passed by him - the same family from the theme park that made his day slightly longer? - but he didn't mind. He just wanted to get the toilet paper and get out.

* * *

"What do you mean you don't have any Charmin?" Charlie desperately asked the attendant. He had scoured the entire aisle and they were cleaned out.

The attendant wasn't having any of this today. He wasn't there to argue with anybody - much less a humanized raptor - over whether or not they had stock. He was finishing up his shift - he was on his way out to the door when Charlie accosted him - and considered himself done.

"Have you tried any other brand?" the attendant sardonically asked.

"Yes, and they chafe my mom's ass!" Charlie began, positioning himself on the shelves as if subconsciously readying himself for a persuasive speech, "Like, I don't care - toilet paper is toilet paper - but my mom's really picky about these sorts of things and, you know me, I want to make her proud and all, so I figured 'well, I could get the toilet paper and be on my merry fucking way' but as it turns out, you guys don't have-"

The attendant held his hand up to Charlie's face and interrupted, "I don't know you. You're just some random dinosaur who walked into the Stor-Mart and turned half the aisle over just to find some overpriced toilet paper! You'd be alright getting Cottonelle or something - I don't care. Just let me go. I have a life."

The attendant walked away, grumbling under his breath, "Unlike you, it seems like."

Unfortunately for the off-the-clock attendant, Charlie's hearing was acute, thus the raptor ran over to the attendant and was about to pounce him...

...until another raptor - this one with blue markings and blue hair (his personal coolness is limited to just that) - ran over and pounced the other raptor into the shelf right beside him. Several packs of Cottonelle fell onto the two.

Charlie tried to worm his way out of the grasp of the blue-and-olive raptor - his wrists were pinned in place. He looked up at the raptor holding him down - anime T-shirt, definitely Evangelion; fresh blue jeans from the department store; and blue sneakers. This guy really must love the color blue. And is a total weeb.

"Mr. Blue Raptor, I love a good Japanese anime as much as the next guy, but that attendant was a bit of a dick!" Charlie yelped at the blue raptor.

"The name's Blake and, uh, looks like you were a bit of a dick as well," Blake quipped, "Not a good look for us."

Charlie pushed Blake off of him, got himself up, and turned around to where the attendant was.

Gone. Shoppers had gathered around the scene instead.

Charlie hastily grabbed one of the packs of Cottonelle and walked off. Blake followed him.

* * *

"I almost had him. Why'd you want to intervene?" Charlie asked Blake as they walked through the deli department. Somehow they were still open at midnight. Must be those liberalized labor laws. Elon Musk really must want his fresh slabs of steak to convince Stor-Mart to keep their deli department a 24/7 operation. Imagine how it must feel for those workers. Then again, given that Stor-Mart is a jacked-up minimum wage sort of place, they must switch out these workers. I hear some company out in Silicon Valley's trying to make horse-people. Just something, just something.

Blake responded, "I see a person in need of help, I help out that person. Something my dad drilled into me."

"You from one of those raptor-raptor families, eh? Too bad I'm not. I'm just a charity case with scales and tail." Charlie sighed and looked at the various processed meats.

"No, no, I'm adopted," Blake replied, "My dad's that guy from the news - the raptor-rights ally-guy-thing."

Charlie's eyes widened - though that could be due to a conveniently-priced pack of Seth's Worldwide Jewish-Style Long Hot Daschunds within his frame. "You mean you're Owen Grady's son?"

"Yup," Blake said - and then looked at the pack of hot dogs. "I like Seth's Worldwide too, particularly the ones at the place on the Coney Island beachfront. You know, they don't sleep on the benches anymore."

Charlie grabbed the pack of discounted hot dogs and responded, "I've been there too. Too bad I got too sick on that Cyclone thing to go to the restaurant."

Blake looked down at Charlie's unbuttoned pink overshirt - his nametag from Staub Land was still attached - and poked it. "Yet you run roller coasters."

"It's a summer job," Charlie responded and turned towards the bread aisle, "It's better than trying to sell shit at the Sears that nobody goes to. Only picks up when I'm due back in Chapel Hill."

"I mean, it's not bad. You have any friends over here?" Blake asked.

Charlie hesitated for a moment. Friends? In high school, I was the weirdo! Any humans want to be friends with a velociraptor? Real friends, not people who want to fuck you because you fit their ideal of what a dream hubby looks like? They're the ones who try to dress up like you at mythological-appreciation meetings - like even trying to get the specific scale pattern down! I mean, I was salutatorian, but that didn't help! People booed during my speech - and I quoted all the hot new movies! Especially that one with the gopher and the dumb guy who blew up a golf course with plastic explosive! Holy shit, why did I quote  _Caddyshack_ in my speech?

"All my friends are down in Chapel Hill. They're at coffee houses or making commercials or doing shit at Carowinds," Charlie replied.

"How would you like to come to the Raptor Social Club later today?" Blake extended out his hand, "We got cake. And people like you and me."

Charlie impulsively shook Blake's hand. "Sure, why not? Question, though: where's your place?"

* * *

5:00 p.m.

Charlie looked across the street at Blake's house.

Blake stood outside on the long and winding driveway and did some sort of semaphore-inspired thing. I think that's Ringo's position from  _Help_. Or George's. I dunno.

In plain sight all this time.

Charlie shouted from the front porch, "I'll be over!"

Blake shouted back, "What?" You gotta be kidding me.

"I'll be over, Blake!" Charlie again shouted.

"Can you speak up?!" Blake responded back. Charlie sighed.

" **HEY, BLAKE, I'M WALKING OVER RIGHT NOW!** " Charle screamed from the top of his lungs.

A beat. Blake walked over across the street and to the front porch of the Fleming house. A quaint two-story affair. Looked like it had been built in the '70s.

"Could you speak up? I can't hear you from across the street!" Blake inquired.

Charlie opened the front door, turned to Blake and said, "Yeah, I'm gonna get, like, a bag of chips or something."

Blake responded, "No need to. We got refreshments-"

"Look, man, I gotta scream into a pillow or something. That was kinda upsetting," Charlie interrupted.

Blake grabbed Charlie by the arm and pulled him away from the door.

* * *

Charlie slammed the pillow into his face and screamed his lungs out. He removed the pillow, took in a deep breath, and placed it back onto his face, only to resume the same shrill scream.

Blake stood in the entrance to the Grady house kitchen, looking at Charlie doing this rather odd ritual of alleviating stress from unfamiliarity. "Hey, uh, I didn't mean to frazzle you like that."

Charlie removed the pillow from his face, looked up at Blake and stated, "Look, Blake, we just met last night at the Stor-Mart and you invited me to your place, but you're trying to be all playful and silly and I'm over here, I just want this to be done, like I just want the whole thing to be done! I want my summer to be done! I want to go back to Chapel Hill! Being here is a fucking drag!"

Charlie resumed screaming into the pillow. Blake grabbed a can of Bepis - cold with condensation running down the aluminum exterior - walked over to the couch and sat down.

Blake waved the can of soda in Charlie's face and cooed, "I got a can of Bepis with your name written all over it."

"I swear to God if you actually wrote my name all over the can, I will defenestrate," Charlie muttered and looked up. He sighed as he noticed the can was stock. Charlie grabbed the can, cracked it open with his thumbclaw and took a big gulp. Tastes just like Bepis.

"What's wrong with Williamsburg? We got the colonial district, Jamestown-Ebott's like 10 minutes away and that has that crazy haunted mountain with all the dead kids, and - most importantly - we got Staub World and Staub World: Water Park Edition: Featuring Dante from the  _Devil May Cry_ Series! You gotta vouch for the latter!" Blake enthusiastically asked, getting way too in the moment. He's not exactly good at reading the room.

"You try working at a theme park over the summer," Charlie stated, "Chances are you'll be like me."

"An asshole?" Blake asked.

"More like a stick-in-the-mud," Charlie corrected, "That's the preferred nomenclature."

Silence. A beat. Blake and Charlie sat there, not sure of how to drive the conversation. And the doorbell rang.

"Oh, Danielle and Ellie are here!" Blake exclaimed, stood up and ran to the door. Unfortunately, the maid who came to clean the Grady house every now and again accidentally used furniture polish instead of floor wax, so the floor ended up rather slippery, not to mention lemony fresh. On socks, Blake slipped on the floor and slammed into the front door.

Charlie finished up his can of Bepis and ran over. Blake moved out of the way, groaning in pain, as Charlie opened the door.

Enter Danielle Banton and Ellie Profane (pronounced "pro-fan-ee"). Danielle, brown hair with dark green scaly skin with turquoise markings, and Ellie, light green skin with turquoise markings with olive hair - they were entirely new to Charlie. Blake recognized them, obviously, but he was a bit incapacitated.

"Oh, god, the fucking furniture polish," Blake groaned out, "Tread lightly or you'll bust your entire existence."

"Yeah, where do I put the fucking chips?" Danielle asked.

* * *

The basement. Blake, holding an ice pack to his head, sat on the couch and listened to the really-out-of-place quadraphonic set-up. Specifically, the one record he owned: a Ten Years After record.

Charlie walked down the stairs, an 18-pack of Bepis and a party tray of tiny chicken hors d'oeuvres with ultra-sweet dipping sauce in his hands, and walked over to the table situated in between the couch and the front quad speakers.

As he placed the rest of the goodies on the table, Charlie asked Blake, "You okay?"

"Does it look like I'm okay?" Blake snapped back, "I only have one of these albums, I slammed my body into the fucking door, and Danielle's in her extra-pissy mood tonight. I'd say that this Raptor Social Club meeting is gonna be a failure."

"It's just the four of us, Blake. I may be new, but you're all new to me. It's not entirely one-sided," Charlie calmly responded before noticing the record on the turntable. "Got any of that Mexican dude who makes the wine and makes his guitar cry?"

"No, that's the only record that was in the collection. You have any records like that - with the gold border?" Blake asked.

"I dunno. I don't collect records," Charlie replied.

At that point, Danielle and Ellie came downstairs, with their contributions to the table. Danielle's aforementioned bag of chips and Ellie with a box of seasonal Little Debbie snack cakes, this time shaped like illegal fireworks.

Danielle threw the bag of chips at Blake, pointed at Charlie, and asked, "The fuck are you? You a fuckin' spy?"

Charlie looked around the room and shook his head. "I don't think I'm Napoleon Solo."

"Yeah, right. I can see right through your disguise." Danielle was not convinced. She walked closer and looked straight into Charlie's eyes.

Charlie's pupils dilated. Danielle held her hand up to his neck, claws in prime position...

...and laughed. Charlie sighed and muttered to himself, "Why am I surprised? Blake's friends are weirdos."

"Come on! Lighten up! I mean, you're the new guy! You're still wearing your theme park badge!" Danielle pointed at Charlie's pink overshirt. I forgot to remove the tag. "Welcome to the club, Charlie!"

Charlie walked over to the couch, sat down, and stared out into space. This was going to be the beginning of a weird summer.


End file.
